I remember when one of my buddies wanted Bloody Mary to be his girlfriend.

I remember him saying her name three times in the mirror planning to steal a kiss when she popped out. He didn’t get her but he did get a girl who screamed bloody murder when he picked her up and twirled her around when she said she liked him. They ended up kissing each other with such saccharine abandon that I thought they had forgotten about me.

I remember hearing my first racist joke before high school. It wasn’t directed at me yet, no that would come later. I was told that red heads have no souls and that that gay people wanted nothing more than to flirt and suck, and fuck all through the night. I didn’t believe the red head’s one, but I was a little scared of gay people after that.

I remember my first school friend who punched me in the face for being so prejudiced.

I remember the feel of hot white-knuckle pain screaming against my nose and the laughter that came after.

I remember kissing another little boy in elementary school. We had both watched James Bond and we wanted to know what naked kissing was like. So we mashed our mouths together between the barriers of feeble fingered hands as we tried to pretend we were James Bond conquering another lay. It was always unclear which one of us was James Bond though.

I remember saying “hey you” when I couldn’t quite remember my new friend’s names.

I remember another friend of mine that wanted to crack a joke about another girl in our class when she got out of the rain in Washington DC. He joked that she wasn’t “wet enough” and then felt the slight rush of heat that comes when a blush burst on to his face. He didn’t mean it he said and just wanted to say something dude-ish. He never said anything too dude-ish or incorrect again.

I remember that he reformed, became politically correct, and gave me a harsh does of reality.

I remember him punching me in the arm when I denied my reality.

I remember the screams of triumph echoing down the halls when my friend who met his girlfriend in a mid air dive hoisted up a Segway and rode it down to the gym on the last Senior Night. He waved at us as others followed suit and soon a parade had broken out with what looked like thousands of tiny wheels curling up the linoleum floors. He was caught by the attendant and marched away from the night with a smile on his face. He glided out the door with wheel oil and one-dollar fan service bills stuck to his shiny shoes.

I remember the first time I saw New York for the first time after I moved away and didn’t remember a thing.

I remember the outside world looked scary when I realized I didn’t want to become a vet. Pride crushed, I told my sexist vet science teacher to fuck off.

I remember regretting that.

I remember those bubbles on the standardized forms breaking through my skin. Like little judging eyes, they burned the air in my lungs and tightened my eyes to tears.

I remember realizing that some of my friends that weren’t really friends were confident. They thought they could wipe a sugar cookie on their gooch and I wouldn’t know when they gave it to me. They thought I wouldn’t believe them when they told me. They were right.

I remember when my first love had texted me to break up and I remember the sharp yet smooth lines of Helvetica type somehow sucking all the love out of her voice.

I remember James and Brody had fought about Katie, the red headed mouse and about how she was a cat with mousy voice scrapping, skimping, and biting James and his need for pride and joy.

I remember telling him she wasn’t right for him and that she just wanted a boyfriend just because she wanted a boyfriend.

I remember when boys’ criticizing girls and girls criticizing boys was kid’s stuff instead of gender issues.

I remember the hand cramps I got when I tried too hard to write school essays on why Macbeth transcended the generational barrier. It doesn’t.

I remember my eyes straining against the sun and the wincing whip marks on my back as I tired to stand up to my bullies.

I remember thinking that I was going to direct a movie or a video game or a short film or a indie play or a Broadway play or an animated feature or a choir or a poetry slam team or a performance art quintet or a runway fashion show, that Audrey Hepburn would rise from the grave just to attended- the POINT IS………………………… I wanted to direct.

I remember thinking that I was going to keep in contact with the politically correct reality cop and the politically incorrect Segway, riding empty eyed seeker of pride and joy.

I remember visiting one of them recently to see if he was still where I left him. He was.

I remember calling one of them to see if he has found what he was looking for. He did.

I remember thinking of the big strong trees in the CT barnyard and how far their roots must go under the turned up soil that was continuously pissed on by the farm hands’ dog.

I remember feigning interest in a dog’s health even though I just thought they were cute and that was it- yeah, cut, dry, the end. I thought they were cute and that was it.

I remember when someone said I talk too much.

I remember when someone said I write too much.

I remember when someone told me to keep talking and never stop talking.

I remember that it was me.

© 2014 Jared “I.J” Steinberg. All Rights Reserved.

#nonfiction